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"Well, well," she said with a condescending smirk, "if it isn't my daughter, the failure." She glanced around the room. “This is quite the fall from grace….isn’t it.”
“I'—”
“That wasn’t a question,” she sneered, her cold eyes studying me.
I fought to keep my composure, but her words cut deep. "Maura," I managed to say, a slight shake in my voice, "what can I get you to drink tonight?"
She laughed, a cruel, mocking sound. "Alright, I’ll play along. A martini, extra dry. If this place can even make one."
“Of course,” I murmured as I turned away, because only Maura Shepfield would say that in what was obviously a five star restaurant.
I clenched my jaw, struggling to maintain my professionalism.
Walking to the bar, I stiffly gave my order. Pete, one of the bartenders, gave me a quizzical look, obviously confused about my zombie routine. He handed me the drink. “You okay?”
“Yeah, fine,” I whispered, taking a deep breath as I walked back to Maura’s table.
“Here you go.” I set the drink on the table, trying to ignore the knowing, amused look on her face.
“You know, Blake, we always hoped you didn’t have the same genes as your worthless parents. We discussed it for days before we adopted you, the chance you might end up…like this.”
“Have you decided what you want to eat?” I spit, trying to stop her vitriol.
But she wasn’t going to stop until she’d said all she wanted.
“Look at you. You gave up a world of privilege for this. Slaving away like a servant. Your modeling career in ruins….”
“Your order, please,” I choked out. Because fuck, I did not want to cry in front of her.
She smiled, getting pleasure in attempting my demise. “A steak, medium rare. Surely they can’t mess that up.”
I nodded and hustled away, except instead of going to input her order, I made a detour to the back exit, pushing through the doors with a hitched sob.
I stood outside in the cool night air, leaning against the rough brick of the building, tears streaming down my face. No matter how much progress I made, it never was enough. She was always going to be able to strip me bare.
Always.
I felt utterly worthless, as though every effort I’d made to prove myself had been in vain. Since they’d adopted me, all I’d ever wanted was for Maura to love me, to accept me for who I was.
But no matter what I did, it was never enough.
The scars of my tumultuous upbringing, the years spent striving for her approval, were still fresh in my mind. I had hoped that by breaking away from Maura and the toxic life she represented, I could finally find a sense of self-worth and belonging.
I’d been delusional, obviously.
I wiped the tears away and walked back inside, feeling that old familiar sensation, that I was a stranger in my own skin. That it was stretched too tight across my bones and any second now it would rip, and show everyone around just how ugly I was inside.
It wasn’t just Maura, it was that article too. Out there for the whole world to see. How soon until Ari thought that way too? How soon until I fucked all of this up? Cheater. Whore. Maybe that’s all I really was.
I stared around the restaurant. I was a failure, wasn’t I? Doing this because I wasn’t good enough at my real job.
“Look at her posture.”
“Her backside is too big.”
“She looks too basic.”
Comments I’d received on failed jobs assaulted my brain.
